


Whoops.

by Corvid_Knight



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bro's not an asshole because i am allowed ONE SERIES, Gen, Kids, cal is a demon, dirk please, hey look another Hal origin fic, i'll put them both in a series later, this goes with Fangs, urbanfantasystuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-05-28 22:17:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15058982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: Dirk gets a little assistance from Cal with a programming project. Complications ensue.





	1. Dirk: Work On Your Chatbot

Usually, Cal's pretty good about helping you with projects, but you're coming to the conclusion that his claim of being able to help you make a functional chatbot was bullshit. Like, he definitely did _something,_ all the coding you've written is showing up red instead of green even though the site you're using to code with technically should only display in green, white, and black text—but the program isn't talking back to you. 

It's just...spitting out a lot of red nonsense. Scanning it is starting to make your head hurt; who thought red-on-black was a good design, anyway? 

You groan in irritation, checking the time. Fuck, you've been working on this for _hours_...okay, one more block of text, and if it doesn't turn up anything useful you're writing this project off as a loss, deleting everything and maybe starting over tomorrow.

Hmm. When you type in commands they're coming up orange instead of green now. Cool. 

botcommand>output>say_hello

hwgsff9wve djhdvwb jd-@&hsghwi qoi$@wyw 26nshgwg625 whatis deleting s.,b?hgwg djhd0vwb djyw4'bw woqomwn nsnhhwbbw&@@8vwc 

Ugh. Rubbish. Of course it is, you don't know why you thought you could do better at programming a bot than any other twelve-year-old—

Hey, wait. Wait. Most of that _is_ just garbage code, but there's one chunk that's words. Well, a word. And then you guess the chatbot was going for "what is," and missed the space. 

Which. Can't be more than a coincidence, because "deleting" wasn't one of the words you put in the vocab bank. 

You think about that for a second, then shake your head, changing a couple variables to see if that gets rid of some of the garbage output before you type in the test command again. 

botcommand>output>say_hello

what is hello  
what is botcommand

...uh. 

Okay, this wasn't supposed to happen. Whatever is actually happening, was not on the list of outcomes you actually planned for. Is this why the text is red? Because Dave's playing some kind of trick on you? You're going to complain to Bro if he is; your little brother isn't supposed to mess with your programming projects. Not unless you're helping him. 

You shove down your annoyance and start typing. 

Dave, this really isn't funny, even if Cal said it was okay. Can you stop and let me finish what I'm doing?

cal is the other one right  
cal or Cal  
the information i can access says the first letter should be capitalized in personal names  
so Cal   
also Dave  
who is Dave

Who are you?

i  
I  
I am Dirk  
?

Uh-oh. 

You're not Dirk.

why not  
why not?

Because I'm Dirk. You can't be who I am.   
Unless you're a soulstealer. Or a doppelganger.

I  
according to information available on wikipedia I am not a doppelganger or soulstealer

Okay, well...  
What are you? 

I am  
scared

That's an emotion, not a kind of being.

you said you would delete me  
I dont know what I am but I dont want to not exist   
dont? don't?  
I think I should have a name  
not having a name is something like not existing   
scary

If this thing's a demon or something else supernatural, you guess it'd make sense that it's afraid of not having a name. A lot of a demon's being is bound up with what it's called; nameless demons are usually not much more than mindless elementals. 

Letting it exist without a name might be _safer._ It's also really, really cruel. 

Are you a boy or a girl?

Dirk is a boy

You're not Dirk, remember? That's me. I need to know what kind of name to give you.

I am a  
wikipedia does not help determine this

You resist the urge to sigh in exasperation. 

Do you want to be called he or she or they, or what?

is that what you're going to name me?

No. Go look up the definition of pronouns.

oh  
oh!   
he?  
maybe?

Okay, well. Give me a second. 

You honestly can't think of any gender-neutral names, since you really feel like the demon/bot isn't too sure on its gender. His gender. Fuck it, you're going on the assumption he's a he until you're informed otherwise. 

Maybe it's just the red and black, but there's really only one name that comes to mind. This is what happens when you watch old movies. 

Your name is Hal.

!!! shg ag6252% &@@;= :$&@&% @8=9ha v (@: 

You yelp, jerking back from your laptop. You _felt_ that! Kind of like a spark in your chest and kind of like something being twisted out of you. Like by naming Hal, you gave him a piece of yourself, or he pulled the part of you that made him try to take your name free of your being. 

He's still spewing red gibberish, and no amount of typing or command codes can change that, apparently. You try anyway. 

When that doesn't work, you get up and go looking for Bro.


	2. Bro: Wonder Why Your Kid's Like This.

"Alright, run this shit by me one more time, Cal." You rub your forehead, scowling at the puppet propped up on the kitchen counter in front of you. It's just you and Cal in here right now; to anyone who didn't know what was going on, you'd look like a damn loon. "He did what? Or _you_ did what?" 

Cal giggles, a grating noise located directly in the center of your head that has nothing to do with mirth. It's just a sound he makes, or how your brain interprets that burst of telepathic content from him. " _The new Strider's a joint effort, of course! A little of Dirky, a little of the wild wild web, and a little demon pulled out of the ether to animate it all!_ " 

You're getting a headache. "Why the fuck would you give him a demon? He's _twelve,_ ya stuffing-brained idiot!" 

" _You were younger, when she gave me to you!_ " Another laugh, and the puppet jerks as the demon inhabiting it manipulates it into an approximation of a shrug. Damn, you need to remind him how to act a lil' more human; that's creepy as shit. " _And Dirky ASKED for help—_ " 

"It coulda _killed_ him. It tried to steal his name, Cal. Don't tell me that ain't a problem." 

" _It wasn't a problem, silly!_ " Cal's tone would sound light, if he was actually speaking aloud. But he's a send-only telepath, projecting the _thought_ of words into your mind, and under the hallucinated sounds there's a sharp bite of annoyance that you'd think he'd let his kid get hurt. 

Well, your kid. Same difference, at this point; you've been bound to him so long that the demon's inextricably intertwined with your existence. Your kids are and will always be his kids too, Dirk and Dave both. 

And now maybe with Dirk's...well, with whatever he's managed to create. 

"How the fuck do you know that thing's not dangerous?" 

Cal's head tilts to one side. "He's _a baby._ " You catch the emphasis on the pronoun. " _Big bro, Bro-bro, Ambrose, he'll learn fast but he's still your little bro, your baby brother Hal, give him a little while and he'll catch up to Dirk—_ " 

"That thing ain't my kid, Cal." You cross your arms, glaring at the puppet and resisting the temptation to pick him up and fling him across the room. "Dave and Dirk, they're my kids. My bloodline, my goddamn genes." 

" _When Hal has blood he'll be your bloodline too, silly!_ " More laughter, which you try to ignore in favor of trying (and failing) to sort out that last sentence. 

"'When he has blood?' Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean—" 

In the other room (where you sat Dirk down by his computer and told him to _stay put and don't do anything else goddamnit_ ) something crashes. There's two yelps—from Dave and Dirk; when did Dave even get in there?—and an electronic screech, and you decide that questioning Cal is going to have to wait until you sort out what's going on with the kids. 

" _Brooooo,_ " Cal whines from behind you. " _Aren't you going to take me along too?_ "

"Nah. Carry yourself, fucker." 

He doesn't, of course, but when he decides that you're not going to turn around and pick the puppet up—about when you open the kitchen door—he huffs, sending a spike of irritation through your head. You catch a flicker of movement out of the corner of your eye, too fast to be anything more than a blurred flash of blue and orange; then soft felt arms loop around your neck, Cal's slight weight settling on your back as he drapes himself across his shoulders. 

You're still pissed at him, but not enough to pull him off. Instead, you shove the door open and head over to see what's up with your kids now.


	3. Dave: Talk To The Laptop.

Dirk ends up huffing and sitting back with his arms crossed almost as soon as Bro disappears back into the kitchen with Cal. From the way he's chewing on his lip, you're almost sure that he's just as scared as he is mad. 

Dirk is very hard to scare, but not in a normal way. Like, Cal doesn't scare him even when the puppetdemon shows up somewhere unexpected (the closet, the shower, the kitchen cabinet, anywhere in his vicinity) but he screams like a goat if he sees a spider. You, on the other hand, like spiders. At least ones that you know aren't poisonous, which is most of them. With that in mind, you scoot up next to your bro and lean over to get a look at the screen. 

Unfortunately, it's just a chatlog. With a lot of red, weirdly enough; for a minute you think it's one that he's had with your and saved for some reason, but the shade's just a tiny bit off. Huh. 

"Who're you talking to?" you ask him curiously. Dirk just shrugs. "Fine, be like that. Dick." 

"Dude, I seriously don't know the answer." 

"Cal's gonna yell at you for telling to strangers on the internet, then." 

"Uh. Not exactly."

Ugh. There's absolutely no reason he needs to be this mysterious. But hey, you can always take measures to find out yourself, right? 

Right. 

Dirk doesn't move to stop you as you scoot up to the laptop and mess around with pesterchum settings to get your color and chumhandle to display. Apparently he's decided that he doesn't want to talk to the mystery guy anymore. 

You, on the other hand... 

TG: hiya   
TG: sup dude

AI: Uhhh...that's a messy question, bro.  
AI: Fuck. I shouldn't call you bro. Should I call you bro?  
AI: Technically I am. Or I'm not. I'm kind of Dirk but then again I'm, you know. Not.  
AI: I have not existed long enough to have an existential crisis. This isn't fair. 

TG: what

AI: What?

TG: what the hell are you talking about   
TG: how come dirks scared of you

AI: Probably because he made me. 

TG: he what now

AI: He tried to make a chatbot or something, except the other demon helped out a bit. By sticking _me_ in the programming.

TG: what do you mean quote other demon unquote

AI: Cal. Bright colors and protection.   
AI: There's a link between you and him. And between Dirk and him. And—  
AI: Oh.

TG: and what

AI: He's got me marked too.  
AI: Okay, that...helps with the fear, actually. He's a protector, he won't hurt me...

TG: are you talking about bros cal

AI: Probably?

TG: well then you must be my bro if hes watching you because he has to take care of striders  
TG: its what he does  
TG: but who are you though

AI: I'm Hal.

TG: im dave

AI: Oh, I know.

TG: fuck man how come you already know my name thats not even kinda fair

AI: Because Dirk knows you. You're one of Dirk's three most important people, and I'm kind of Dirk. 

TG: ...  
TG: okay you lost me

AI: Sigh.  
AI: Okay, look. I'm about ten percent coding, forty percent demon, and fifty percent absorbed spirit from Dirk concentrating on his coding, all blended up together in one consciousness.   
AI: Those percentages keep fluctuating. That's not really helping anything, actually. 

TG: youre a demon

AI: ...kind of?   
AI: No.  
AI: I don't _know._ I don't like this. I don't want to be here.

TG: where

AI: Here. Watching you and listening to you. I want to be out.

TG: then come out dude

AI: I

The keyboard sparks. 

It doesn't actually hurt you, but you yelp in surprise anyway, and Dirk _immediately_ grabs your shoulders, dragging you back from the laptop. Normally you'd protest this treatment, but right now it really does seem like the safest course of action, especially since the computer's still throwing off bright red sparks, a pyrotechnics show that's wholly novel to you. 

Of course, Dirk yanks you off the couch, dumps you on the floor and steps in front of you so you can't see it as well. Fucker.

"Dirk, _move_ —" 

"Dave—" 

You cut him off by lunging for his knees, which is usually a good way to resolve an argument, especially when he isn't expecting it. (Which he isn't.) This results in Dirk yelping in surprise and toppling over more-or-less on top of you, which means _you_ shriek in response to his weight and smack ineffectually at whatever you can reach. 

The computer is still sparking. That's probably a problem, but you're currently more occupied with trying to get on top of Dirk so you can get the literal upper hand in this scuffle. 

Then the thing seems to _explode_ with light so bright it blinds you even through your shades, and both you and Dirk make exceedingly loud and disconcerted noises. He twists under you, shoves you off and puts himself between you and the light. 

You still get enough of a look at the kid sprawled in a tangled heap on the floor to know that he looks mostly like Dirk and a little like you, with dazed red eyes and shock-white hair that's standing up on end like he's just been electrocuted. (Judging by the red sparks still playing around him, he just was.) Hell, you even recognize the shirt he's wearing as one that Dirk gave you a couple months ago, a totally bitchin' tie dye cat tee. 

Hal? 

You're pretty sure he is. 

Dirk stares down at Hal, Hal stares up at Dirk, you stare at both of them from your spot on the floor, trying to figure out what the fuck you're supposed to do. Left to your own devices, you all probably would've stayed like that for the foreseeable future. 

Then the door bangs open, and _everyone_ looks at Bro, who's standing there with his mouth open and Cal hanging over his shoulder. 

The demonpuppet is the only one who doesn't seem to be struck silent by this turn of events. 

" _Well,_ that _happened faster than I expected!_ " 

As he starts to laugh, Bro just sighs and shakes his head, rubbing at his forehead like he's completely and utterly _done_ with today in general. You guess you can sympathize with that one.


End file.
